Tim is sick with the same cruddy cold that I had.
I gave it to him.
He staggered downstairs this morning for breakfast and then went back to sleep on the couch for about two hours. By that time I was at my desk, working (catching up from being sick!). Suddenly I hear him go back upstairs and then out the door.
Within about a half hour, the whine of the table saw is heard in the land.
I make him medicinal chicken soup for lunch (with onions and garlic). Then I ask him if he's planning to rest.
Shocked, he looks at me as though I have three heads (this happens a lot in our family).
"I AM resting," he asserts.
"You're working on the deck," I protest.
"No, I am resting," he states again. "I'm working slowly."
I give up.